The Holiday Switch

by Tif Marcelo

  As Sarah continues to speak, I text Carm, who’d sent a simple ok after my last text. I wince as I type:

  Lila: I don’t know if I can make it after all

  This thing is 3 hours long

  I’m sorry

  Carm: I guess I’ll just reschedule

  Lila: I owe you

  “…We’re going to have two lanes, where I will be on belay as well as Teddy.” Sarah continues as I tuck my phone back into my pocket. I’m saddled with guilt. How am I going to make it up to Carm?

  “Being on belay means that I am on this side of the rope so you can safely climb. But in order for us to properly show you how to climb, I’m going to have Teddy demonstrate with another person. The first task is getting you into the harness. Can we have a volunteer?” Sarah laughs as hands shoot up. “I’m so impressed with your enthusiasm, but I didn’t finish my sentence. I’d love to have one of the adults come up and participate.”

  “How about one of you back there?” Teddy says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I feel like I’m at war with myself. The confident side of me doesn’t give a crap that he’s here. The shy side wants to crawl under the soft mats that line the floors.

  How did I not notice that he had a nice voice?

  “She can do it,” Mrs. Pruitt says, turning to me with a hopeful smile.

  I blink back at her.

  “Oh.” Teddy lifts a hand over his eyes, lips curling into a grin. “Oh, hello there. I know you.”

  Girding myself unsuccessfully, I walk forward. Let’s just get this over with.

  “You know my sister?” Graham calls out.

  “I do. We work together at the Bookworm Inn. She trained me.” Then he adds, “But now it’s my turn to show you a thing or two.”

  My face erupts into flames.

  “Everyone, pay attention,” Teddy says. “I’m going to assist Lila into a harness. We’ll do this a step at a time with each of you, but I want you to know what to expect. So eyes up here, please.”

  Twenty pairs of eyes lock on him.

  Impressive. Where is this Teddy at the Bookworm Inn? In spite of my hesitance to help with this demonstration, I want to see more of this.

  “This is a harness.” He raises the contraption and goes through its parts. But my focus shifts to the foreboding wall behind Teddy. Looking up, I trace the different-colored markers all the way up to the ceiling, to a pulley system and a bell.

  “Now Lila is going to step into it.”

  The sentence snaps me back to the present. “What?”

  He shakes the harness in encouragement.

  “Oh…oh no.” I realize this was the basis of my volunteering, but suddenly I want to be anywhere but here.

  A chant begins from the audience, at first quiet. I hear my brothers’ voices rising above the rest. Seconds later, I make out the words.

  “Step in it. Step in it. Step in it.”

  I’ve stepped in it, all right. I roll my eyes, though inside the peer pressure is real. I always do what’s expected.

  The volume turns up from a three to an eight.

  “Okay, fine.” I relent, because I don’t want to look like I’m scared, nor do I want to disappoint.

  My decision sets off applause from the audience, and Teddy’s face brightens. He holds out the harness. The two holes for my legs are obvious, and I step in while he keeps hold. Still, I have to bend down as it snags on my joggers and have no choice but to lay both hands on his shoulders to keep steady.

  “Easy does it,” he whispers.

  This close, I can smell the hint of bar soap and mint. It’s pleasant in comparison to the rest of this gym.

  “Now you’ll see that Teddy is pulling up the harness so that it’s at her waist,” Sarah says.

  His fingers slide around the harness so it’s at my hip, his knuckle grazing against me.

  I hold my breath to keep my heart from leaping out of my throat.

  He gently turns me around so the buckle at my waist is visible to the group. “Then I’m going to make sure that this part is nice and secure.”

  He really does have a nice voice, and all at once my heart retreats into my chest cavity and thumps a million times an hour. The way he moves his hands around me, at the buckle at my waist, to the ones at my legs to make sure I don’t fall out in the hypothetical event I flip upside down, though still respectful, has the same effect on me as the Christmas romance I just read.

  “Now I’m going to hook you onto the rope.”

  And then those warm feelings hurtle to the ground. “No. No way.”

  Understanding flits across his face. “You don’t have to go up the wall,” he says softly. “I’ll just hook you up. Is that okay?”

  His expression is sincere, and when I look into his eyes, I find no hint of malintent. I believe him. It takes a beat for me to find my voice. “Okay.”

  He walks me away from the group, and we stand next to the wall. He pulls a rope with a carabiner at the end. “This carabiner? It will be attached to the carabiner on your harness, but I’m attached to it too. I am what you call the belay. I’ll make sure you’re absolutely safe.”

  “The carabiners on your key ring.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. “It makes sense.”

  “It’s always handy to have one around. But also it’s a reminder.” His voice is steady, soothing.

  “Of what?”

  “What I love to do. It keeps me focused.”

  Right then, Teddy has all my focus.

  “I thought you were working tonight?”

  “This is work, sort of.” A small smile graces his lips. “Truth now. You okay?”

  “Yes. No. Not really.”

  “It’s all right. You can trust me. You’re not going up unless you say you want to.”

  His words are surprisingly comforting. I take a deep breath.

  The click of the carabiners startles me, and my gaze drops to my waist, where his hands are on the link.

  “It’s as easy as that, folks,” he says, facing the crowd. “Then all you have to do is climb. I’ll be your belay on one of the ropes, and Sarah will be on the other. Whenever you’re done, all you have to do is say you’re ready to come down. Then you can simply do so, or let go and we’ll ease you from the wall.”

  I reach up to touch one of the holds and shake it. Sure enough, it’s secure and solid. The red ones are especially prominent, sticking out at least a couple of inches. From here, it doesn’t look that bad. And yet, it’s not the going up that scares me, but the coming down. It’s the misstep, the feeling of not being able to catch myself.

  “All right, you’re done. Thank you for helping to demonstrate,” Teddy says to me as Sarah lines the children up. “You did well.”

  “I guess,” I say. “Should I take all this off?” I start to fuss with the carabiner, just as he reaches out, and our hands collide. I bite my lip from the rush of giddiness that mixes with my uncertainty.

  “Sorry.” He clears his throat, eyes rising briefly to my face. His expression is different from the other looks he’s given me, and his cheeks pink before he looks away. He unhooks the carabiner and works quickly at loosening the buckles, though he’s gentle and professional. He’s so at ease being this close to me. He’s probably so at ease being this close to anyone if he’s helping them with their harnesses.

  To move the moment forward, I force small talk. “How often do you work events like this?”

  “Not often, but I was here for practice, and I got someone to take my shift at the gift shop. I get a little bit of a discount when I help out with these big groups. Tita Lou doesn’t know about this either.”

  “God, so many secrets.”

  “Like someone I know.” His eyebrows lift.

&n
bsp; “I won’t tell her, I promise,” I say, just to make it clear. Because I’m involved now too.

  It reminds me of my blog post from the other day. What exactly are we enabling with each other, and is it a good thing?

  TINSEL AND TROPES

  A HOLIDAY BOOK BLOG

  Title: There’s No Place Like Home During Christmas by Wanda Strong

  GENRE: ADULT CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Do opposites really attract?

  The setup of this book was pure perfection. The setting was gorgeous. Both protagonists were likable and in general, kind. And the plot, about a real estate agent and the town mayor who’ve hated each other’s guts since they both competed throughout high school but must band together to help the town B&B, is cute enough. Though yes, the representation has much to be desired—in the large cast of characters, there were only two people of color. I mean, I’ve lived in a small town all my life and, trust me, we exist. (Yes, I’m probably starting to sound like a broken record, but here’s my post about the lack of diversity in books, especially in small town romances.)

  But of all the romance tropes, the enemies-to-lovers arrangement is the hardest for me to get on board with. After the couple gets stuck during a snowstorm—hello, forced proximity!—suddenly the same things that used to annoy them are now endearing?

  How does that even work in real life? Can you ever really forget someone else’s faults? Physical attraction only goes so far, doesn’t it?

  And yet, this book worked for me. It really did. It was the “only one bed” trope that sealed the deal. And sometimes you just need a happy ending. I also think the little bit of magic that played out in the book helped too. Sorry, I’m not spoiling!

  Pros: Perfect reading when it’s cold outside.

  Cons: I think I want more heat next time.

  Recommended for: Those looking for a new book boyfriend, because the hero is swoonworthy.

  Rating: 4 stars

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24

  The six of us burst into the house. It’s negative one million degrees outside, and the twins are cranky. Snow spills onto the linoleum floor as each of us sheds our coat and boots, shivering as we enter the kitchen.

  “I’m so hungry!” Graham says.

  “When can we open presents?” Grant asks.

  “After noche buena.” Mom is already in the kitchen, taking food out of the oven, which was kept on warm while we were at children’s Mass.

  We start setting the table, grabbing the special tableware from the buffet. It’s like an assembly line with the twins putting down the placemats and napkins, Irene with the utensils, and me with the plates and bowls, while Mom’s Christmas playlist filters in from the background.

  Jingling comes from the tree, and tinsel flutters to the ground. Dad emerges from the back, glitter dotting his forehead. A present is in his hand, and he slips it between the pine branches.

  I look down and bite my lip. It’s his present to Mom.

  “Bringing the food to the table,” Mom warns.

  The kids rush to sit, and Dad and I help Mom bring the food over: A large soup tureen filled with arroz caldo, a plate of liempo, and leche flan. It’s a small menu since it’s just us, but it’s special and filling so we can fall asleep straight after we open our family presents.

  We are virtually silent except for the occasional moan—the food is that good. It takes a mere fifteen minutes before the twins wiggle in their chairs with their bowls licked clean. Still, they hold their tongues, knowing what I learned pretty quickly at their age: The less they distract, the faster the parents finish eating and the quicker we get to open presents.

  Mom is in the middle of scooping more arroz caldo into her bowl when she says, without looking up, “Want to open presents?”

  “Really?” Irene’s face lights up. “But you’re not done.”

  “You all are being so patient.” Mom laughs and nods toward the living room. “Why not switch it up this year?”

  The whole table cheers, and even Dad leaps from the table. Mom follows us to the family room with her bowl and takes a corner of the couch. Irene and the twins sit cross-legged next to the tree, as do I.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m eighteen. Right now, I might as well be the twins’ age.

  “You all know the rule,” Mom explains, as she does every year. Tomorrow morning, we’ll get Santa presents, presents from other families, and the kid presents to one another—or, my and Irene’s presents to everyone else—but these Christmas Eve presents are from Mom and Dad. It keeps it special, keeps it about us.

  Each one of us is given a package. One I know about, because we get this every year. We all dig into the wrapper with gusto, and wrapping paper flies everywhere.

  “This is exactly what I wanted!” Next to me, Irene shrieks and lifts up pajamas printed with bacon and eggs all over.

  We’re talking all at once. Graham’s pj’s feature dogs of all breeds. Grant’s have army men. Dad has spectacles printed on his, and Mom’s has nurse’s hats—which she picked out.

  These yearly pajamas are a mainstay. And each year, Mom outdoes herself.

  These pajamas are footed.

  “Your turn, Ate!” Graham yells from the hallway. He’s halfway undressed and peeking around the corner.

  “Patience!” I laugh. Under the tissue paper is fuzzy fabric, and when I lift it out of the box, I notice the print.

  They’re stethoscopes.

  “It’s perfect!” Dad says. “For our future doctor.”

  Future doctor.

  It’s a statement I’ve made time and again. I even said it earlier this week, to Teddy, when he asked me what I wanted to major in.

  But now, for some reason, it feels like a true commitment. Even more than it was to declare it on my applications as my intended major.

  “Put them on, Ate,” Irene says, already in her pajamas.

  “Oh, okay,” I say, snapping out of it. You’re being dramatic. I hustle to my bedroom to change. The fabric is ultrasoft. Looking in the mirror, I see an overgrown toddler reflected back. Except I’m not. I’m an eighteen-year-old wearing footed pajamas. An eighteen-year-old with a secret I have yet to divulge. And why haven’t I done so?

  All this time, my blog, my writing identity, was just a hobby, something separate. But is it more? And what do I do with it?

  My phone buzzes on my desk, interrupting my thoughts. It’s a requirement to leave it at home for Mass, so I check my notifications. There are lots from the blog, some texts, and one message from Teddy.

  After seeing him at the climbing gym yesterday, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind, nor could I erase the memories of him standing so close.

  Teddy: So I guess I’m coming over for dinner?

  Startled, I text immediately.

  Lila: When?

  Teddy: Day after Christmas

  Your parents didn’t say?

  No, they hadn’t. Ms. Velasco always comes to our Leftover Christmas party every year on the twenty-sixth. It’s when everyone brings a repurposed leftover to help ease their refrigerator.

  But it didn’t dawn on me that Teddy would be coming over too.

  “Mom?” I set the phone facedown and rush downstairs. The family is seated in front of the fire, five out of five in their footed pajamas.

  “We’ve been waiting for you. Do you like the pajamas?” Mom says.

  Oh, duh. We were still in the middle of presents. “Yes, I’m sorry. I…The zipper got stuck. I love it. Thank you.” I bend down to kiss each of my parents on the cheek. I’ll ask them about the party later.

  “Before you all open the rest of our presents…” Dad stands, and despite looking very silly in his footed pajamas, his face is serious. He sticks his hand in the tree and pulls
out the box.

  My eyes dart between him and Mom. “For me?” she says, as if he doesn’t give her a present every year.

  He nods.

  She opens Dad’s present, and her face beams when she sees it. “Arturo.” She lifts up the mother’s bracelet, four strands of our birthstones strung into one. “You didn’t stick to the budget we discussed. This is not twenty-five dollars!”

  He wraps it around her wrist and gently clasps the ends together. “Sometimes rules are meant to be broken.”

  “I love it.” Mom throws her arms around Dad’s neck.

  For a moment, they seem to melt into one another. Irene leans toward me and snuggles into my arm, and with that, all my worries are washed away. This is what Christmas is all about. Even when we didn’t have any money for gifts, we never lost this. At our lowest point, who we are as a family remained. The important things don’t change.

  “Now it’s the kids’ turn.” Dad pulls gifts from behind the tree. One by one, he hands us a package. Mine is a solid, heavy box.

  The mood ramps up, and the four of us dig into the wrapping paper. My siblings squeal. Everyone is yelling, but I can’t tear my eyes away from what’s in front of me.

  It’s a brand-new laptop. “Oh my God.”

  “You’ve been working with the same laptop for a while, and since you share yours with Irene most days, we thought it was time for a new one to bring to school,” Mom says.

  “This is…wow.” I was fully resigned to use my laptop until it died or all the keys fell off. I know how much this costs. I can probably tell you how many hours it would take for me to earn enough to buy this laptop. “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean, are we sure?” Dad glances at Mom for a beat, then says, “We want you to have everything you need to succeed.”

  Inside me is a balloon that’s been inflated, filled with gratitude and joy. But it’s also taut with uncertainty and guilt. My parents have sacrificed and worked hard to get back on their feet. For me to succeed.